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The musky sweet smell of cocoa tickles Stelle’s nose. Her nerves faintly tingle, mostly from hunger – though there's more than a little bit of anticipation mixed in as well. She makes her way towards the far corner of the party car with a tray and two steaming mugs in hand. The sounds of laughter, jazz, and Shush’s jokes seem to fade into background noise.
Sunday is quietly sitting in his usual chair with his nose buried in a book. Two of his little golden companions perch on his shoulder. They perk up at the sound of Stelle’s footsteps and wave at her, though the man himself doesn't seem to notice. She grins–the urge to creep up from behind and jumpscare him is strong, but holding a tray of hot cocoa doesn’t exactly make that an easy task. She makes a mental note of it for next time.
The young man finally looks up at the soft *clink* of the tray being set on the table. His golden eyes move first to the mug she pushes in front of him, then to Stelle herself, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “That one's for you. Extra marshmallows, a drizzle of syrup… have to say, I didn't expect you to be a sweets lover.”
Sunday’s expression softens into a gentle smile. Very uncharacteristically, Stelle’s heart starts hammering against her ribcage. "You remembered my preferences? Thank you. I will be sure to savor this.”
The gray-haired woman plops down onto the squishy seat and chugs some of her own hot cocoa to stop a stupid dopey grin from spreading over her face. The smooth, rich taste of chocolate washes over her tongue, coupled with a cool touch of marshmallow mint. She lets out a relaxed sigh. Sunday, who had been watching her with a glint of amusement in his eyes, speaks up. “You're not going to return to the festivities?” He gestures towards the main area, where the rest of the crew is watching the bartender perform drink tricks. “I heard this was the day that you first boarded the Express, after all. It’s your celebration.”
Stelle stretches her limbs lazily and shrugs. “I will eventually, but a little breather from all the noise doesn’t hurt. What, you're that eager to get rid of me?” she says teasingly.
“Nothing of the sort. I apologize for the careless choice of words–you are always welcome to talk with me.” Sunday lifts the mug of hot chocolate to his lips and takes a sip. There’s no visible change in expression on his face, but Stelle doesn’t miss the way his wings give a small, satisfied flutter.
“You came at a good time, actually.” The Halovian taps the open book sitting across his lap. “I’m very curious to learn more about other planets that the Express has visited. This chronicle of Belobogian culture and history is fascinating, but hearing about events from someone who has experienced it firsthand is more engaging, no?”
Now that he mentions it, the Astral Express had helped stop the Eternal Freeze over a year ago. Recalling the events fills Stelle with a deep sense of nostalgia. “Say no more!” She eagerly moves her chair closer and begins to recount (slightly dramatized versions of) run-ins with the Silvermane Guards, meeting with Wildfire in the Underworld, and their confrontation with Cocolia. She moves on to more light-hearted anecdotes about bidding for a geomarrow probe for Hook’s father, camping on the snow plains, and Aetherium Wars duels. Sunday listens to it all intently, nodding every so often. He patiently sips at his hot cocoa and never once interrupts her, only commenting in between stories. “I can sympathize somewhat with Lady Bronya. Leading a nation involves a lot of responsibility and pressure. It can be… overwhelming, especially at such a young age.” He’s gazing at the sea of stars outside the window with a faraway look in his eyes. “I’m glad to hear that in the end, she didn’t have to shoulder everything alone.”
Stelle falls silent. A strange sort of feeling begins to creep up her chest. It’s not melancholy, and certainly not pity, but she can’t quite put a name to it. Instead, she punches Sunday in the arm. “Hey, lighten up. You’re stuck with us now, whether you like it or not.”
The young man turns to her with a wide-eyed stare. He’s silent for what feels like an eternity. There's a palpable awkwardness in the air, and Stelle mentally curses her inability to keep her mouth shut. Finally, however, his shoulders relax. Sunday’s expression slowly changes to a subdued smile. “I suppose I am, aren’t I?” He chuckles. It’s a warm, melodic sound that sends shivers down Stelle’s spine. “That is reassuring to hear, Miss Stelle. I apologize again for worrying you. Please continue your stories, if you so wish.”
Relief floods Stelle’s chest, though not before she gives him another punch for good measure. She scoots a bit closer in her seat and moves on to talk about some of Luka Strongarm’s greatest boxing hits. Stelle is pleasantly surprised to hear Sunday interject with his own commentary this time. Eventually, rather than talking at him, she’s talking with him instead.
Time passes by in a blur, and at some point Stelle is struggling to keep her eyes open. Most of her responses become short or even single-word answers. Anything longer is borderline unintelligible. It would be mortifying if she was still cognizant enough to realize it.
On the other hand, Sunday does realize what's happening. “Miss Stelle, you seem exhausted. I think you should rest.” he says gently, eyebrows knit with concern.
“ ‘m not… tired…” Stelle mumbles. She pinches her own cheek aggressively, though it seems to be of little help.
“Stelle, please. You need to take care of yourself. Do you need help returning to your room?” He starts to rise from his seat.
Stelle grunts and shakes her head. She gives one last valiant effort to shake herself awake and sit upright. Unfortunately her energy finally gives out and she falls forward. Bracing herself, she prepares to welcome the feeling of her face kissing the rug.
Instead, a pair of hands quickly grab onto her shoulders, holding her steady. “That was close. I really have kept you for too long…” Stelle hears a shuffling of fabric and footsteps on carpet. A warm presence settles next to her on the chair, and Sunday gently shifts her head onto his shoulder. “Here. You said you would be there for me, so allow me to repay you in kind.”
Stelle’s brain is too muddled to formulate a response. However, her cheeks redden and warmth fills her from head to toe. Her head lays atop his soft scarf, which she gratefully sinks further into. Sunday closes his own eyes and begins to hum a lullaby. It's the last thing Stelle needs for her consciousness to finally fade into comfortable darkness.